Tales of the Crimson Widow (Eliza T. Creststeel)

Chapter 6

“Man overboard!” a distant voice shouted.

Eliza drifted though the Ether. Her body was cold, but she was long since numb to it. Distant memories washed over her. Visions that occurred long ago returned, and some that may never have happened.

“Stand fast!” she heard.

Her father beamed a smile at her from the helm of the Manchester Lady. He was rosy-cheeked and bellowing a hearty laugh as she ran up the steps to his side. He was so tall. It was then she realized she was ten years old – standing on a crate behind the wheel. Her father’s large hat covered her head.

“Elizabeth!” her mother shouted.

Thomas was gone. She was that skinny barefoot girl again in her faded dress, standing alone on that crate. Her mother looking up disapprovingly at her.

“What are you doing, for heaven’s sake?”

“We were sailing rough waters,” she heard her tiny voice say.

“Elizabeth Thomasina Creststeel! Come back here at once!!”

The little girl looked around her, but the ship’s deck was now awash in water. The crate she stood on was the only island above the icy depth.

“Now, young lady!”

Eliza glanced back. She saw her father standing at the raised bow, the water quickly rising. But, he was unafraid. He reached out his hand for her. She could feel the warmth coming from him and see bright light at his back.

“Pull!! Heave to!!”

Something jerked at her. Eliza was being pulled away from him. The Manchester Lady, now only her masts visible, was sailing on without her as it descended. Finally, it went under and was gone.

A rush of cold water washed over her. She was coughing and gagging. Everything was going dark around her.

“Grab hold!”

The blackness and cold enveloped her. The ship was gone. Her mother’s voice was gone. She was alone.

“Is she…”
“No… she’s not.”

Light and sound flooded back, along with needling pain and bitter cold. Eliza was convulsing and coughing. She tried to open her eyes. A man was looking down at her. His blue eyes were bright and penetrating; glinting as he smirked at her.

“Welcome aboard, lass.”

Eliza gathered her bearings. She was alive, lying on the deck of a tall-masted ship. A brigandine maybe? Her body was chilled to the bone and her clothes were plastered to her form. She felt completely vulnerable. The last time her clothes revealed her, she was assaulted and thrown into the hold.

She quickly tried to sit up, but the man restrained her. He was quite strong.

“Heavens. Quite the fight for a landed fish,” he said with a laugh. “You were dead girl, when we pulled you out. Just lay back.”

“Ple… please…” she managed to utter.

He leaned down close to her. She could smell the sea salt on him and the rum.

“Pleased… to mee… meet you,” she finally said.

The man smiled down at her as she relented and eased back to the deck.

“Mr. Smith, help me please. We will put her in my cabin.”

“Aye, sir. Yours?” a brusk voice replied.

“At least until she’s able to be up and about. I can bunk in the racks for now.”

Eliza awoke to a pitching sea. She was tucked under several soft linen sheets on a soft down mattress, unlike anything she’d ever reclined on. Her eyes fluttered and glanced around the candle-lit cabin. Outside, she could hear the wind and sheeting rain on the deck above. It was also then she realized she was wearing a cotton dressing gown. She pulled the sheets up to her shoulder.

The captain’s quarters were somewhat Spartan, but appeared to also share space with part of the lower gun deck, a wall panel appeared to be erected on the far end. This was likely a brig and likely armed; a long-range merchant ship.

The man kept a few mementos on high-railed shelves; including a small wooden box, a picture of a young woman, a squat corked bottle… and her jaguar figurine.

A howl of wind rushed in as the door burst open. A large man in a wet rain coat and hat tromped inside. Eliza lay back, feigning sleep.

“Chow time!” the man said. His voice boomed in the small space.

He removed the dripping hat as he set down a tray with a steaming bowl on the table beside her. The next rolling wave caused the bowl to slide closer and she could smell Irish Stew.

“Been asleep almost two days now, missy. You need to eat.”

He leaned down to nudge her, but her eyes snapped open. The big man was startled as Eliza grabbed his coat lapel. She pulled him down to her and held up the meat folk from the tray to his face.

“Ye not care for stew, then?”

“Where am I?”

“Aboard the Merry Widow, lass. I should be asking you how you got out there in the middle of Caribbean.”

“My ship was blown out from beneath me. At least… what I remember.”

He chose not to move. The fork tines hanging before his eyes, but the young woman’s dread gaze was a bit more intimidating.

“If the captain had wanted you harmed…”

“Forgive me suspicions…”

The door slammed open again. Eliza wrapped an arm around the man’s neck as another figure entered.

“Mr. Smith! How long does it take to deliver a bloody tray? I need you on deck!”

The captain pulled down his hood and looked down at them. Eliza took a moment to study him. She remembered him from the ship’s deck now; his blue eyes and the little twist of a smirk on his face. He was fairly broad-shouldered, but not barrel-chested. His strength was apparent, even from across the room. He caught her glance and gave an assuring nod. He seemed to ignore the makeshift weapon.

“Did she invite you to share dinner?”

“Where are my clothes,” she said firmly.

“Well, your strength is coming back. But, if you harm my first mate, I will have to put you do work.”

Was he being charming? She failed to fight back a smile.

“Did you enjoy me while I was helpless?”

“You don’t seem like you’re ever helpless.”

Eliza relented and put the fork away. Smith eased up, then nodded at the captain and trudged back out into the storm. Eliza sat up, keeping herself covered. She picked at the stew with the fork.

“I’m sure Mr. Smith was none too happy about being taken by surprise. I’ve seen him break a man’s arm with his bare hands.”

“He hasn’t met the right opposition, then.”

“You have a spirit, girl. I will give you that.”

Eliza downed another bite. She honestly couldn’t remember when she had eaten last.

“Eliza… girl is not my name. Elizabeth Creststeel.”

“A pleasure, ma’am.”

“I will wager it was.”

He sighed.

“I promise you, we were complete gentlemen. The only one aboard who saw you undressed was Kit.”

Eliza glared at him as she ate, finally sipping at the remaining broth. She made sure to keep the blanket pulled up to cover herself.

"Well, enjoy the stew. I will promise to knock next time," he said pulling the hood back over his head. "I mean no reason to get an eyeful of fork."

She sneered after him as he left. Finishing the soup, she lay back in the railed bed. The storm outside and tossing of the waves did as much to prevent her from sleeping as the thoughts of being aboard a ship full of strangers and being entirely at their disposal. Later after lights out on deck, she slipped out of bed and inspected the room in more detail. The sea had calmed and she could feel they were underway again, but nothing else in the cabin was useful.

Eliza took her jaguar figure off the shelf and located a small dagger. She tucked them both under the pillow and eventually dozed off.

Bells were ringing when she awoke the next morning. She recognized the call to morning mess, since she herself had rang it aboard Filch's ship for those rough weeks. Stirring, she kept covered until she noticed her faded blouse and trousers hanging on the back of a chair nearby. Someone had dried them by the small stove. Climbing out of the bed, she quickly dressed, lamenting that her good boots were long since lost enroute to the Rambleshackle jail. A guard had helped himself while she was chained and unable to fight back.

She tied back her hair, wishing that she could wash the salt out of the sun-bleached strands. A hanky from her pants pocket made for a suitable cover for her head.

The cabin door opened. In the mirror, she could see a small figure enter and leave a tray on the edge of the bed.

"Breakfast, mum" the sailor said softly.

Eliza nodded as she looked at herself in a mirror nailed to the bulkhead.

"Good to see you up and about," they added.

"And dressed?" Eliza quipped.

"Well, yes ma'am."

"Did you look at me while I slept?"

"No, ma'am."

The sailor beat a quick retreat, but Eliza pursued.
 
Chapter 7

On the deck, the sun was bright and the sky was crystal clear. No sign of the storm before. The young sailor in short pants and vest was several steps ahead of her.

"You there," Eliza said. "I was not finished talking to you."

The boy would not look back at her. Several men were cleaning and polishing. A couple of them watched her out of the corner of their eye. She realized that now they would all be privvy to what was paining her. The captain glanced over. He has standing at the rail, confirming his bearing with ***tant.

"Good morning, Ms. Creststeel."

He sauntered to her, glancing up and down. His hair was blonde, lighter than hers even and cut short, except for a small knot he had tied in the back. Standing before her, he was only a bit taller than she was. His blue eyes glinted in the sun.

"You're quite a sight, ma'am. Now, that you're not wrung out like a rag. I didn't know they grew females as tall as you."

She fought the urge to snipe back at him.

"I'm sorry for the hostilities, captain. I've had... some troubles. You and your crew are commendable for saving me. I should have thanked you. I have no money or really anything I can pay you with, but I am willing to work."

"Work? Really?"

He took hold of her hand and looked at it. She tried to pull it back, but he was stronger than she thought. He simply turned it over and looked at her palm. She had a few healed cuts from cooking knives, but he stopped to feel the calluses on her fingers.

"You have worked some I see. Can you haul a line? Work a turnstile?"

She nodded.

"Climb the rigging? Not afraid of heights?"

She shook her head. He grinned.

"Well, let's just see. Kit?!?"

The young sailor turned back. The deckhand was a little thin with bobbed hair, but the large eyes and anxious stance told Eliza instantly - the cabin boy Kit was a young girl.

"Ms Kit here is the best hand I have ever had for scaling these masts. That and her handiness with a knife has earned her keep aboard this ship. See if you can give her a proper race to the lookout."

He paused, gauging her reaction. Eliza cast her eyes to the mizzen mast rigging, then at the slender girl. Kit shrugged and made her way to the rail, her over-sized ankle boots clopping on the deck. She hopped up and took hold of the rope ladder and awaited her competition. Eliza wondered if this was a joke or if he wanted to see if she would actually try.

"You don't believe I can do this?" she asked.

"Oh, I believe you can Ms Creststeel. But, no harm in proving it."

"Fine," she nodded.

As Eliza crossed the deck to the mizzen rigging, Mr. Smith stepped next to the captain. He crossed his arms and grunted.

"Kit's practically a monkey. Won't be much of a race."

"I wouldn't wager against our Kit, that's for sure. But, this is only an audition, Mr. Smith," the captain said as he took hold of the bell cord.

Eliza stepped up onto the rail. She took hold of the rigging and stepped onto the first rung. The sea-worn rope was coarse against the sole of her foot. She glanced at Kit. The girl looked quite bored.

"My apologies for yelling at you," Eliza said. "I suppose I do not like feeling vulnerable. Captain said you're the only one who undressed me. Was that his decision?"

The girl nodded.

"Captain laid you down on his bed and gave me the dressing shirt. Told me to take care of you. Said he would leave it to the women folk."

Eliza glanced over at him. A modest gentleman?

"Weren't easy," Kit added. "Fighting a big gunny sack like you out those wet things."

Kit giggled. The comment made Eliza narrow her eyes at the younger girl.

"First to the top spar!" she heard.

*CLANG!*

The bell was still echoing in her head as Eliza launched herself at the rigging and scrambled up the ropes. She could feel her breath starting to sharpen after only a few steps.

Her arms and legs felt strong and the cheers of the men on the deck motivated her to give it her all. But, as she looked back to her goal, Eliza's jaw went slack. Young Kit had clambered well past her and was already at the top sail.

Pulling at the rope above and trying to spring her steps from below, Eliza kept climbing but the rigging was swaying now with her weight. Kit was scampering up to the top gallant as she got a foothold on the top spar. Her breath was hoarse and sweat was forming as she leaped up and grabbed the next section.

"Kit's in the nest!"
"She did it again!"
"That's our Kit!"

Eliza heard the voices from below. She looked up. All she could make out was the girl's frail arms waving down at the crew on deck from the crow's nest basin. Eliza gritted her teeth and took the last few rungs. Kit seemed surprised to see her climb over and into the small lookout point.

"You're only the third who’s not quit," Kit said flatly. There was no sign she was out of breath at all. Eliza gulped for air as her heart finally began to slow.

"Perhaps... we should... try again?"

Kit giggled.

"Introductions, I mean... I'm Eliza..." the taller woman said, holding out her hand.

The girl looked at it.

"I been through a lot, mum... being the only female in this crew. Once we reach Port Royal, you and I will likely never meet again. So, why bother?"

Eliza plopped down to the deck after descending the mast rigging. The captain was waiting for her. Kit had long since come down and had perched herself at the aft deck, her gangly legs swinging in the air over the rail.

"A fine performance," he grinned. "Ready for your next test?"

"Will I be asked to clean or cook for you?"

"Oh, no. We were still discussing the position of deck hand, were we not?"

At the rail, he pointed her to a capstan and several belaying pins.

"Just find the jib line, and raise the sail."

She studied the pins and lines ascending to the masts for a moment.

"This mast takes two lines to raise and secure the sail... captain."

"Correct. So, you will need a partner. Mr. Smith?"

The bear of a man plodded over to them. He took hold of a line, pulled the belaying pin out and began to heave. Eliza quickly followed suit on a neighboring line. The rope dug into her hands as she coiled the loose end behind her. Using the far end to leverage, Eliza began to pull end over end. The mast, which was starting to tilt in Mr. Smith's favor, soon leveled out as she huffed and heaved.

Her motions were fluid, meticulous. She'd done this countless times. Feeling the sheer weight of the beam under her leverage of the pulls, she narrowed her eyes and looked along the line as the blood coursed through her arms.

Planting her feet squarely on the deck, Eliza focused on the line taut in her hands - ignoring the occasional frayed threads trying to cut into her calluses. The crew cheered as they pulled the sail completely to the spar. Eliza could feel the muscles in her arms straining, her neck and back were bunching up. The weight was trying to drag her forward or straighten her crooked arms. She knew well should her elbows open too far, she could lose her footing and the sail could whip her up to the pulleys.

"She could pull a wagon," Kit called from her perch. "Eh, Mr. Smith?"

"Aye," the mountain of a man snorted, "But we're not done. Right, captain?"

The captain smirked.

"I'm impressed Ms. Creststeel. Your figure seems to hide a lot of whipcord. Now, let just hold it there a moment."

She stuttered an exhale. The line was already causing her feet to slip some inches. After a few more moments, her triceps were aching. Another agonizing two minutes and her back was stiffening. She glanced at Smith. He merely shrugged. Finally, with the rope slipping away, she cried out.

"May... May I secure... the line... captain?"

"Tie it off, Mr. Smith. Our recruit has had enough."

Smith wrapped off his end; securing it with a belaying pin. He casually took hold of Eliza’s line. Grabbing hold, he took up the slack, and then tied it off as well. Eliza exhaled in relief and shook out her drained arms.
 
I didn't leave too many comments - not every chapter - but I am a big fan of yours. You are truly a talented writer, on the league of your own. All the side stories, details, everything supports the main story line. Yet it's still clear which direction you are going (without necessarily giving us any hint). Very knowledgeable of the world of pirating, you must have been dealing with and researching for a long time. I love it that you use all kinds of style (even though all are third person view): the letters, flashing back to the past, back to the present, dreams. Very creative, a complete package. I wish to see this story on a hard cover or paper back on the store one day. And I'm glad that I could get a sneak peak right now. :)
 
Jade, most generous... thank you. I do write and am in process of working with a company to develop some of my screenplays. I can't give too much but one is a pirate story, though not about Eliza. I had considered the idea of maybe creating a comic or graphic novel but it would mean removing all Disney elements first.
 
Chapter 8

Eliza glanced up to see the sparkle in the captain’s eye and a little smirk.

“Are you enjoying my struggles, Captain?” she asked. “You have now humbled me twice.”

“On the contrary,” he protested. “You’ve performed admirably. More than proven yourself. I believe there is only one more area you need to show you can serve aboard this ship.”

The captain strode to Mr. Smith and patted his shoulder. Smith eyed Eliza, but his glare had softened some. When she caught his glance, he nodded at her for a job well done.

“You need to show that you can protect this ship… and your crewmates.”

“Captain,” Eliza said plainly, “I know nothing of working a cannon.”

He nodded.

“Well, you can be taught then. Senior Rivera can provide that.”

The captain nodded at a rail-thin older Hispanic man, who was busy polishing a cast iron cannon he stood next to.

“I was thinking more being able to defend yourself, ma’am.”

He patted the hilt of his cutlass. The weapon looked simple, but elegant and quite lethal. It was without adornment or decoration, just sharpened steel and a hilt. She sighed and glanced around the deck at the men, who had been lounging about, but watching with interest.

“Am I to face some master fencer you happen to have aboard ship?”

He grinned.

“No. Sadly, I’m afraid you will have to settle for me. Master at Arms!”

A tall Afrikaan man stepped forward. He was shirtless, with numerous healed scars on his arms and a brand burned into his shoulder. He had an iron key ring bolted to a loop on his belt.

“Captain?”

“Mister Mufti. Open the small arms locker and let Ms. Creststeel have her choice.”

“Aye, sir. This way, Miss.”

He chuckled and led her to a locked cabinet on the deck. Using one of his keys from the chain, he opened it; revealing a cache of swords, daggers, axes, and pole arms.

“How are you liking the hospitality of the Merry Widow, missy? Captain making you feel welcome?”

“I do hope you are joking,” Eliza replied. Her eyes fell onto the collection of steel and iron. Sheepishly, she felt lost looking at it all.

“No joke,“ the sinewy warrior said with a big toothy grin, “He been watchin’ out for you.”

Eliza noticed a sword that looked very much like a toy one she had played with, when she and John would duel or battle monsters on the deck of their father’s ship. She picked it up. It didn’t feel much heavier than the old toy.

“If I may, miss,” Mufti took out a long, straight-edged blade. “A cavalry broadsword. You seem to be strong enough and it has more reach. Though I doubt you will lay a tip on the captain no how.”

“We shall see.”

Eliza took hold of the broadsword. It had a basket hilt which protected her entire hand and the grip had been wrapped in strips of leather. It felt good in her hand, though holding a weapon at all made her feel uneasy in the presence of this strange company.

The captain had removed his waistcoat and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. He held his cutlass loosely and swung it about as though preparing himself. He watched her approach.

“That is a lot of steel. You can handle that much weapon?”

“Funny,” she quipped. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Her remark elicited a few chuckles from their audience. He smirked at her remark, and held his blade at the ready. Eliza stepped in with a short swipe, unsteady as her weigh shifted. The captain didn’t bother to deflect the blow, merely sidestepping. His riposte took only a turn of her wrist to knock away. They circled and repeated the process of strike and defend.

“You’re just playing with me.”

“This is YOUR test, milady.”

She gritted her teeth. Her next attack followed a quick shuffle step forward. A thrust, then pivot to swing back around at him. He kipped back to stop the penetrating blade, then managed to parry the follow up.

“This is NOT playtime, woman! Come at me!”

Growling, Eliza charged him with a flurry; a downward stroke, another thrust and then a complete spinning swing. But, she found herself stumbling several steps forward. The captain sidestepped her advance, and then right when she had managed to stop herself…

*WHACK!*

He had swatted her on the rump with the flat side of his cutlass blade. Eliza yelped and jumped aside, more from shock than sting. The deck erupted into laughter.

“You fence like a child… or a drunkard.”

Eliza’s eyes burned at him, as he grinned. She sighed bitterly and lowered the weapon.

“Still, you show promise…”

The captain nodded and put his weapon away. Mufti approached Eliza and took back the sword. The two men turned and walked back to the weapon’s locker.

“She were not that bad at all,” the captain said to his Master at Arms. “For a woman…”

The world turned red. He had embarrassed her enough. Eliza threw herself across the deck in a lunging run. With a primitive cry, she collided with him and the two fell. She wrapped an arm around the smug man’s neck, her long legs flailing to coil around him.

“Captain!” someone cried.

Eliza struck him with her free hand. She was enraged and Hell bent as she clambered astride him.

“Blaggard!!” she spit through gritted teeth, “Never mock me!”

Suddenly, she felt a weight on her back and a cold piece of steel against her neck.

“Ease off, gunny sack,” Kit hissed in Eliza’s ear, “Or I will rend you open.”

Eliza relented, releasing her hold on him. The captain stumbled forward, coughing. His face was beet red. She felt the blade slip away from her throat as Kit let go and hopped down.

“Blaggard” Eliza hissed again. She was sitting now, on the deck with her legs sprawled out in front of her. She was seething, and trying hard not to cry. The captain got to his feet, his breathing was returning. His face had not gotten all of its color back. They were surrounded by the crew of the Merry Widow. Some of the men’s jaw were still slack, others had grabbed whatever weapon was available.

“You lewd, little minx!! Did you not think we would kill you?!?”

She was still catching her own breath.

“Better to on my terms. I will not die in some cell or a ship’s hold… and you will not laugh at me!”

“Never again, I promise you,” the captain said. The bright, playful glimmer in his eyes had diminished.

“Mr. Smith! Get this woman out of my cabin. She’s proved she can work and fight, like any member of this crew. So, now she gets to bunk with them.”

The captain picked up his waistcoat from the rail.

“I think that means you are hired,” she heard Mufti say. He held out his hand and offered her help up. After a moment, she took it. Mufti gripped her right forearm. She followed suit and they shook.

“So we are shipmates, you and I.” he laughed deeply. He glanced at the captain, who was quietly returning to his duties. “Captain feels some of your embarrassment now, missy. No man has taken him to the deck before. And you did it without a weapon.”

Eliza looked after the captain for several moments as Mufti put away the broadsword. She caught herself biting at her lip, and then shrugged off her thoughts.

He took out a modest, but effectively looking dagger.

“Here, every man aboard needs a good knife,” he said and led Eliza forward for her first task.

Smith returned from the Captain’s cabin with the shirt Eliza had been given to wear, along with the small knife she had pilfered and her jaguar figurine. Kit watched him pass, and head to the lower decks.

“I don’t want her next to me.”
 
Ok, TOTALLY addicted! I'm excited to hear you're working with a publisher! An honor to be privy to some of your works Eliza. Thank you for sharing, and I look forward to the next chapter!
 
Chapter 9

She performed every menial task that week. The captain seemed to find something for her to stay busy with. The banter was gone and his eyes were colder to her. Hours of deck swabbing and wiping down rails took their toll, but she made sure she left behind nothing but spit and polish.

At night, she would hear the men grumbling about the spoiled girl who longed for the captain’s bed or maybe her mother to nurse her to sleep. She bit her tongue. Being taller than a number of the men, she often slept with her aching legs dangling out the sides to keep from getting cramps in her calves.

Below deck a few days hence, Eliza descended the narrow stairs. In the galley, a thick man sporting a crude eye patch laded out stew and biscuits. Eliza dipped her finger in the bowl and sampled a taste of the chicken and vegetable concoction.

“Some ground peppercorns would help,” she said, “I could be of some service.”

“Eat your food… woman. Or starve,” he groaned. “This… be my galley.”

She stepped away, feeling the eyes of her shipmates upon her. A couple snickered at the tongue lashing, a few covertly leered. Eliza looked for a place to sit herself, but then retreated to the back of the galley.

They all ate quietly with a few murmurs; mostly of work details, their last trip out and their destination – Port Royal. It was nothing like the boisterous din on Filch’s ship. She could tell they were very conscious of a woman among them.

Kit caught her eye. The girl glared at her, as though Eliza had personally wronged her. She downed the last of her own stew by tipping up the bowl and drinking it like thick ale. A moment later, Kit erupted in a loud, growling low-octave belch. The men in the galley chuckled.

The young teen got up from her seat, kipped up onto the bench and vaulted over the table like an acrobat. She deftly jumped to the deck next to the galley window. She returned her bowl and clumped past Eliza on her way to the stairwell in her heavy boots. Then, all grew hushed again as the men went back to their conversations.

Eliza felt quite alone as she primly finished her stew, but then paused. Putting down her spoon, she picked up the bowl. Like Kit had done, she guzzled down the last of the broth. Eliza followed up with a guttural belch of her own. She was met with an even heavier silence.

“Begging ye pardon, mates,” she said. Her voice seemed like a mouse squeak in the still air.

Quietly, she stood and returned the empty bowl as she padded out and up the stairs. At the top of the rail, she felt the warm breeze whisper through her hair. The sun was already starting to set and several deck lanterns were lit.

“It’s not that easy,” she heard someone say.

Behind her, sitting on the rail with her legs dangling over the side, was Kit. The young girl had stepped out of her over-sized boots and untied the kerchief from her hair. Eliza noted that the cropped mop was nearly white blonde, bleached by the sun. She held a small pipe clinched in her teeth and was taking a puff from the smoldering tobacco – the wisp of smoke barely visible in the dusk light.

“What’s not easy? To act like an ill-mannered, bullheaded man?”

Eliza moved closer and Kit didn’t seem to bristle, so she joined her at the rail – choosing to sit facing inwards. The water below was somewhat calm, but at the speed they were traveling she feared being pitched overboard – even in a light swell. Kit barely seemed to notice the movement of the water at all; her body would just occasionally shift to counter the rise and fall of the waves.

“Be a part of this crew,” Kit replied. “Mufti has taken a shine to you. Perhaps Mr. Smith. But, you gotta' earn the rest of them, especially the captain. We all stood before the mast and vowed service to that man. Fair weather or foul. You're some hapless gunny sack plucked from the water,” Kit said

Eliza snorted an exhale.

“I was practically raised on the water. I have been on a ship's deck since I was five.”

“Five? All those ships tucked safely in port?” Kat asked, smoke wisped from between her lips.

Eliza paused and Kit grinned. She knew she was right.

“Well, what of you?” Eliza asked. “You are more like a street urchin. How did you get here?”

Kit looked out at the horizon, the pipe clinched in her teeth. She let out another exhale of smoke, without taking the pipe out of her mouth.

“That out there,” she said and nodded at the sunset. “Prettier than anything I saw back home. I wanted to see the world. And to do that, I had to get on a ship. But, I not be someone of means.”

Kit snickered at that thought, but her gaze never left the distant sky.

“So, if I was going to see this world I had to do it myself. And if you haven’t noticed, nearly all the sailing folk… are men. They make the rules.”

“They most definitely do,” Eliza said. “Like no women on ships. We’re bad luck.”

The two shared a laugh. It was the first real laugh she’d had in many days. Her jerking shoulders caused the pirate brand scar on her shoulder to sting. She unconsciously rubbed at it. It made her realize something.

“You saw me unclothed,” Eliza thought aloud, “Yet, you never told anyone of my… the mark.”

Kit tapped out the ash from her little pipe, turned in place and tucked her little feet back into her heavy, over-sized boots. Slipping the pipe into a pocket of her short pants, she looked Eliza over. She shrugged.

“You were right, mum. I was nothing more than a little urchin back home. Beggin’… even stealin’ for whatever I could. But, captain here never asked. He just judge me by my work. Only fair I do the same.”

Eliza grinned at that.

“Had good weather so far...” Kit added as she clopped to the stair rail. “Come up a gale… guess we find out what kinda’ sailor you really are.”

Nothing else to say, Kit plopped to the stairs and down the hatch.

With the weather, the Merry Widow was making good time. She was fairly fast, even for a brigantine; mostly due to several added spars on her main mast. Merchants lived and died by their speed.

Eliza worked above mostly, keeping sails taut and the deck clean. She welcomed any chance, after being below so much aboard Filch’s ship and having been imprisoned for so many weeks. The brand on her shoulder healed over and no longer pained her. But, its presence was part of her now.

On occasion, she found herself scrambling after Kit to the upper gallants. But, as the week wore on she was scaling them faster. She swabbed, polished and swept until her back and shoulders ached. Once the Merry Widow was spit and shine, she would ascend to the same lookout station Kit had raced her to. High above the deck, the movement of the ship was even more pronounced, pitching to and fro as the brig forged into the sunset.

It was here that she found a peace she’d never known before; hair blowing in the salt hair, her limbs swinging free under the lookout perch. She could look out over miles of placid sky blue water and endless horizon with only a few sparse clouds breaking the eternity of it all.

Below her, the men sat on deck after the lighting of lanterns. She heard the bellowing laughs, the clink of mugs and then music. In the cool dusk, a strum of strings, the whistle of a flute and the song of violin lofted through the air. Then, a voice. Then, another and more filled the rising dark. She heard their baritones and bass vibratos full of life and their love of the sea.

And for the first time aboard ship – aboard any ship, Eliza sang with them…

Where it's wave over wave, sea over bow
I'm as happy a man as the sea will allow
There's no other life for a sailor like me
But to sail the salt sea, boys, sail the sea
There's no other life but to sail the salt sea

She descended the mast, only to have the silence return. She sheepishly turned to go. But, then she felt Mr. Smith’s massive hand clamp onto her shoulder. Eliza glanced back.

“Still have another verse, woman. You know it?”

That night, she climbed into her meager hammock worn from work but renewed even if her voice was hoarse. The gentle roll of the Caribbean slowly swayed her to sleep as they drew closer to port.
 
Wow..... I only started reading this story yesterday, so I got all the first 8 chaperts at once, but now.... I HATE WAITING! haha. This is amazing Eliza. I cant wait for more. Thank you again for sharing. :)
 
Chapter 10

Two days out from Jamaica, Kit called down from the top gallant.

“Ship sighted, cap’n! East by North East!”

Eliza looked up from her swabbing and spotted the captain heading forward. Captain Hardwicke crossed to the rail. He took out a spyglass and could make out the tops of sails, but little else.

“What do you make of her?” he called up.

“Trader, from the looks, captain, “Kit replied, “Flying a Union Jack.”

Eliza wandered closer to get a better view. He glanced from the spyglass at her. A smirk formed on his lips before he looked back at the distant ship.

“Morning, Mr. Creststeel.”

“Captain.”

She suddenly felt the subconscious need to mop the deck near her feet.

“Deck's looking a bit slippery.”

“Sir?” she asked, mopping another spot.

“Do we have any sand available?”

She nodded. He put away the scope.

“Then, I suggest you put it out. Helm! Bring us starboard ten by ten. Keep us downwind of her.”

Eliza found the pails of sand, kept for better traction on a wet deck. The captain was headed to his cabin. Mr. Smith nodded as he passed. Mufti headed forward to the gunner.

“Mr. Rivera. Load the forward starboard six pounders,” the African ordered.

The guns? Eliza thought. Suppose one could never be too careful in these waters; especially so close to a cutthroat haven like Tortuga. She watched the captain disappear into his cabin. He wants the ship to change course and then just steps away? Mr. Rivera pointed at her, then one of the cannons.

“Andele! Aputa la armas!”

He shoved a wooden ram into her hands as one of the young cabin boys stuffed a powder bag into the barrel. The powder monkey moved to the next one.

“Peguelo abajo,” he pointed. She nodded and used the ram to thrust the bag down. Another crewman took a cannonball off the brass rack and hefted it into the barrel. She rammed it down as well, but only half way.

“No le sea agradable... sea malo!” Rivera shouted. He took the ram from her and finished the job.

The boy laughed. Eliza raised her eyebrow.

“Senior says you are too nice to the cannonball. We're getting rid of it. Be mean!”

Their group loaded the two other forward guns on that side. Eliza rammed the final one herself.

“Bueno!” said the boy. Rivera wasn't impressed. He looked like nothing impressed him.

She stepped back and looked up. The trader vessel was growing closer as they rapidly were drawing nearer.

“All hands!” the captain shouted behind her, “Break out small arms!”

The order stunned Eliza and she turned around. What she saw next made her heart stop… her blood run cold. Before her was a terrifying apparition.

Captain Hardwicke was now a study in crimson. He wore dark red trousers, a deep red waist coat; even a scarlet sash. But, it was his face. It was hidden behind a frightful cloth mask. A black skull was painted on the red cloth and tucked under the brim of his red-plumed hat. The eye holes revealed the only humanity.

The ghoulish spectre paraded across the deck. He mockingly bowed to her.

“You may wish to stay below decks, Mr. Creststeel. Or, you're welcome to remain at your station.”

She watched mesmerized as the crew armed themselves and grabbed up grappling hooks and lines. Their feet and boots shuffling on the sand-covered deck.

Pirates.

She'd been plucked from a certain death at sea by a band of buccaneers. And Hardwicke or whoever he was... she'd seen that ghastly face before. A parchment bill posted on a wall in Charleston Harbor. The Crimson Skull the fiend was called.

Eliza could make out figures on the other vessel now; scurrying about on deck. No doubt in a fearful panic of the ship bearing down on them.

“Colours, Mr. Smith!”

A black flag was tied to the mast line and run up. It bore a large red skull. Her mind raced. She was not a prisoner, but what could she do? Fight them? They had become her mates. She couldn't flee. It was becoming harder not to just panic.

In the distance, the cries of the terrified crew broke over the fluttering sails; order shouted in pitched voices, figures scrambling to urge more speed from their ship. But, the Merry Widow was just too fast. She had the wind and draft on her side.

A cannon erupted. Eliza heard herself shriek.

The small gun on the trader's rail blasted at them, hoping to dissuaded their pursuers.

“Warning shot!” the captain bellowed.

“Aye, sir!” Mufta replied, “Fire!”

The starboard forward gun erupted, its round whizzing over the trader's bow and pluming into the water. Eliza's ears rang from the concussion. More terrified voices in the distance, followed by scattered musket fire. Several rounds ricocheted off the hull or punctured the sails.

“Mr. Mufti?” Hardwicke cried out, “I believe said action requires a response.”

“Aye aye, cap'n,” Mufti nodded from the rail. He hadn't flinched during the volley. “Return fire you dogs!”

A round of musket and pistol blasts rang out as Eliza moved for cover behind the gun wall. She looked up at Taggart and Kit, their own weapons held close.

“That should keep their heads down. Grappling hooks!”

Ropes were cast out, trailing behind the heavy iron hooks. Several struck their marks and their caught lines were wrapped around the turnstile. A selection of men lead by Smith began a slow march around it to reel the trader.

“Creststeel!” Smith shouted. Eliza didn't argue. Keeping low, she moved quickly to an open section and pushed on the turnstile with her mates, her bare feet digging into the sand-covered deck.

The captain took the rail, sword drawn. He displayed his full visage at their prey.

“Stand down! Stand down or there will be no mercy!” the figure bellowed. “Fight and you will die!”

The fretful sailors upon seeing the spectre of the Crimson Skull taunt them, their faces grew ashen. Many could only stare in wide-eyed disbelief at the skull face before them. Several fled across the deck to the far side of the ship.

“Heave to!!”

Their fight frightened out of them, the trader raised sail as the Merry Widow reeled her in the last few yards. Eliza kept her distance out of sight as a gangplank was laid across the two ships. The pirates lumbered across, firearms at the ready. Under their guns, crate after crate was pulled off and into the Widow's hold.

The masked pirate captain walked the trader's deck. Her crew had been ordered to sit against the railing under guard. He seemed quite pleased with himself.
 
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